


Bloom

by plasticpumpkins



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Featuring: the author's lonely projections, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Roommates, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticpumpkins/pseuds/plasticpumpkins
Summary: After moving in Hank, Connor takes the advice of a southern woman on the television and strives to be comfortable in the ways humans are.And if that includes borrowing one of Hank's shirts, well, it's simply a coincidence.





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> I'm practically overflowing w love for these two but ya girl does not want to edit it anymore so!!! I hope you enjoy.

Many things had happened since the end of the revolution. The public at mass was sympathetic and had, after a few weeks, managed to allow deviants to integrate into society. Connor had never expected it to conduct so quickly, but Markus had a good-willed and impactful mission. He had succeeded in his task. Androids were no longer slaves, and more specifically, deviants were not considered defective. They were no longer toys to be used and discarded. Many of them had emotional bonds, families, and dreams. Just like the humans. Being deviant himself, Connor understood this very personally, in fact. 

Another positive change was that his lieutenant, Hank Anderson, now thought of Connor as a friend. This alone was enough to ignite pleasant stimulations in the android, but Hank had gone a step farther; he had offered for Connor to, instead of processing at the police station all night, stay with him at his home. Had suggested they become roommates of sorts. Connor hadn’t been sure at first because he noticed the lieutenant was anxious to make eye contact and had a racing pulse, so he had merely assumed Hank had offered to be deceptively polite. But then Connor had realized… he was  _ nervous _ . 

Connor was not like Markus. He had not been engaging in emotional contact with humans for very long. Connor hadn’t even really engaged with androids. Hank was the first human that had been something other than strictly professional with him, whether it was anger or admiration, it did not matter. The point was… Connor was immensely new at emotions, concerning not only himself but his scruffy lieutenant and now roommate, Hank Anderson. After the shock, however, he had accepted the offer. He liked the older male. He liked his voice and his hair, but he also, in some way, loved the challenge of the lieutenant. He kept Connor sharp, calculating, and maybe doing old dishes in the sink.

The first day Connor had arrived at Hank’s place, not as a work partner, but as someone living there, he had cleaned the entire house. Connor preferred clean, organized spaces and Hank had merely shrugged when asked if it was alright. He had retreated to his bedroom and promptly passed out on his unmade bed. Connor swept, mopped, dusted, washed, and cleaned every available surface. He fed Sumo, played with Sumo, and watched Sumo fall asleep on the floor on his back. Everything had been completed in the languid time of precisely two hours. Connor was getting used to taking his time. 

He had taken his issued shoes off at the door but otherwise remained in his uniform. He took a careful seat on the couch, processing how it felt to actually be living somewhere. To be living with Hank. As wonderful as it seemed, he didn’t quite feel at home, and the older southern women on the television insisted feeling “at home” was a necessity. Connor closed his eyes and quickly searched the internet for any suggestions of what humans did to feel “at home” and in no time, he had a plan. He was going to find nighttime clothes - pajamas - to supposedly become more comfortable and prepare him for bed. 

Connor had washed some of Hank’s clothes recently. They were freshly dried, smelling clean from the laundry detergent, and sitting on the living room table. He would’ve put them in their respectable drawers, but he did not wish to disturb his roommate. Connor started on taking off his gray jacket. 

He folded it neatly and then continued undressing. He slipped his tie out of its knot, felt the softness of the fabric against his fingers before pulling it over his head and lying it to the side. Next was the task of his shirt cuffs and buttons, which he undid one by one as quickly as possible. When the white shirt was split open down his middle, he let it slide off of his shoulders and he removed his arms from each sleeve. He folded it, of course. Connor’s torso was bare, and it was unusual for him, but he liked it in some way. Liked the newness, the sensation of being vulnerable and able to be seen by absent eyes. 

Connor knew exactly what clothing item he would be borrowing from Hank. It was red and impossibly soft, which he had paid close attention to when folding it earlier in the evening. It was many sizes too big for him, but that didn’t matter. He was beginning to learn that things did not have to be correct or specific down to the dime, especially in instances concerning comfort. Connor pulled Hank’s shirt over his frame, and it hung on his shoulders, enveloping his slender body in one mouthful. Connor smiled to himself, pleased at both the feeling and the sight of it as he looked down. 

He stood up to quickly shed his black trousers. He left the issued briefs on before making sure his uniform was adequately folded and stacking it on the coffee table as well. Connor sat back down on the couch, and he found that all of this hadn’t been a waste of time. He felt better in some way, not kept in the professional aura of his work uniform. Next, humans tended to find their bed and lie underneath the blankets to prepare for sleep. Androids did something similar to sleep, he supposed. They closed their eyes and their system would go into standby, or a sort of low power mode to process the day. 

Technically, Connor stood up at the police station while doing this. But now, perhaps because of his newfound deviancy or the comfort he was trying to mimic, he wanted to sleep in a bed. He thought to the only bed in the house, Hank’s. For a brief moment, he only thought of Hank. He considered what it meant to share a bed - the intimacy, the closeness. Connor did not mind the idea of that. If anything, there was a part of him that wanted it. Something inside of him was fizzy when the other man was near, and for the longest while, even before his deviancy, he had worried there was a bug in his software. 

Connor knew now, however, that it was emotion. Chemicals. Something inside of him that wanted Hank, and even more, wanted Hank to want him. Every smile, every appraisal from the lieutenant sent Connor’s thirium whirring through him, exciting him, insisting he responds with a smile of his own. As he thought, he stroked the fabric of the tee shirt he was wearing, considering the oddity of what had occurred. He had been sent to solve a case and instead he had fallen in love. The thumb stroking the shirt stopped suddenly, and everything inside of him paused. Did he really think that? He stood. 

The shirt was loose and long on him, falling mid-thigh. His legs were toned and long. Connor felt anxious with the information he had discovered. His status with Hank was no longer platonic, and he wasn’t sure what that really meant. He walked towards the kitchen and glanced down the hallway towards Hank’s bedroom. There was maybe ten steps between Connor and what he wanted. 

He had done impossible things in his short life, but this seemed different. Connor had been built to chase criminals, to interrogate, to comprehend - all of these things were ingrained into his every fiber. Connor hadn’t been built to love, to nourish, to pursue. These were things he had the capability to do, but he had to learn like everyone else, and that terrified him. He felt desperate to do these things - to climb into the womb of Hank’s bed and learn how to feel, but every move seemed wrong. He was getting error messages, and desperately swiping them out of his sight. Connor was not made to panic. 

The door to Hank’s bedroom swung open, and the older man walked blindly out of the darkness of the room and directly into the bathroom. With the click of the door closing, Connor snapped out of his frenzy of emotion, but he was still stood awkwardly in the entrance to the hall. Something told him to stay still, and he couldn’t argue because there wasn’t any other option. As quickly as it had shut, the bathroom door opened and Hank began to walk back to his bedroom. Connor thought he’d keep walking, and he almost did, but a split second before he reached the door, he peered over curiously.

“Jesus! Connor, what are you doing standing there like fuckin’ Michael Myers? I’m too old for this shit, gonna have a heart attack and I’m not even close to sixty yet,” Hank exclaimed, obviously startled by Connor’s unwavering presence in the hallway. Connor felt like he was overheating in some way. 

“Who is Michael Myers? Is he a friend of yours?” Connor asked, and Hank automatically scoffed. 

Hank sagged against his door with a sigh, “Connor, kid, tell me why you’re standin’ in the hallway.” 

Connor paused for a moment, evaluating Hank’s psychical and mental state to ensure he wasn’t literally going into cardiac arrest. Nothing was abnormal. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, but it seemed he wasn’t going to be able to speak, considering that Hank’s eyes had flickered down from his face to his chest. The shirt would be comically hard to hide. Connor wished this wasn’t the first time the lieutenant was going to see him without pants on, but there wasn’t much to be done. “Am I still asleep? Is this some weird fuckin’ nightmare where you’re murderous but also going to suck my dick?” 

Now,  _ that _ was something for Connor to process. “N-no, Lieutenant, I-I… You’re very much awake.” 

Hank looked vaguely embarrassed, “Then why the hell are you in my clothes?” 

“I was in the pursuit of comfort and the internet suggested pajamas,” Connor explained, but then found that that wasn’t what he wanted to say at all. It gave away too much of his predicament.  

Hank’s eyes kept drifting down to his legs, but then immediately would snap back up. He furrowed his eyebrows, his face still full of lingering sleep as he tried to understand. “And you were coming down the hallway because..?” Hank finally asked. He sounded curious, his voice a little strained and breathy. 

“Because the next suggestion was to find a comfortable place to sleep, and I found that for me, that would be next to you, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, trying to mimic his usual matter-of-fact and casual voice. He knew he was having some effect on his partner, and there wasn’t a large chance of him becoming angry or upset. This comforted Connor, but he knew that not being angry didn’t mean he wouldn’t evoke another unpleasant emotion. Perhaps he’d make Hank uncomfortable. He didn’t know, because currently his ability to predict emotion seemed as though it were barely there at all. 

Hank frowned, looking tired and unsure of himself. “Friends… don’t really sleep together.” 

“I know that, Hank,” Connor said quietly, still absentmindedly playing with the hem of the shirt.

Hank’s eyes widened slightly, and it was clear he finally understood. “Are you malfunctioning?” 

“Do you want me to be?” he asked, feeling so painfully vulnerable and raw he could explode. 

Connor watched him closely. He saw him lick his lips, blink slowly, and shift from foot to foot. Even saw the slightest twitch in the fourth finger of his left hand. In the moment, there were no success rates, no percentages - nothing. Just one being reaching out to another. He would never make Hank do anything, but somewhere in the depths of his turning mind, he knew that if Hank shot him down, he would never really get back up in that way again. Connor wondered how he looked himself - if the desperation, the fear, and the want showed on his young face. “Come on,” Hank mumbled quietly. 

“What?”

“Come on, I said, before I change my mind,” Hank said louder this time, and Connor scuttered so quickly down the hall that they almost collided. For a moment, they were both between the door frame of Hank’s room, and Connor felt so much for the man that he didn’t know what to start. Connor grabbed the shirt Hank was wearing and lurched up on the tips of his toes, pressing their lips firmly together. It lasted for a few seconds. Neither of them moved. Connor pulled away, worrying that he had made a horrible mistake. But the second later, Hank was pressing him into the frame of the door.

The older man had leaned down, and was holding Connor by the shoulders, reconnecting their lips once again. This time, they moved. It was as desperate and clumsy as Connor felt, but it was also filled with a passion he hadn’t known existed. They were so close that he was sure he could hear the ringing in Hank’s ears. Relief and love rushed through him and he pressed up against him harder, desperate for it. Hank was the one to pull away, and even as he did, Connor followed his lips. “Fuck, Connor...”

“I have wanted that for a very long while,” Connor admitted, gazing up at Hank in utter amazement. 

Hank reached up to stroke his face, “Yeah, me too, kid…” 

That night, Connor finally laid beneath the blankets of Hank’s bed. The sheets were cool against his exposed skin and he couldn’t help but slide his legs against them, feeling serene. Hank was asleep beside him, his gray hair splayed across the white pillowcase, with a heavy arm wrapped around the android. Connor could feel the heat of his body, the slow pulse of his heart against his back, and he wanted nothing more than to lie there forever. In the clutch of the man he adored, Connor considered that maybe he was, in fact, built to love. 


End file.
